


Tony Doesn't Share - Even With The Suits

by witchway



Category: Discord - Fandom
Genre: Crack Fic, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, Inappropriate use of Stark Tech, M/M, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23885650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Summary: This is utterly ridiculous.Utterly.Ridiculous.Be warned - it has absolutely nothing to do with ANYTHING. It was written with love (they know why) for ItFeelsSoGoodMrStark and TonyStarkIsMyDaddy.  It is completely and absolutely a bribe.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Tony Doesn't Share - Even With The Suits

**Author's Note:**

> This is for you two. Tell me what you'd like to see.

Peter knew he was dreaming.

He knew he was dreaming because he was sitting in class, waiting for a test, a test for which he had not studied. “I haven’t studied for a test in over a decade,” he announced to the class, disregarding the weird looks they gave him. Why should he care? It was a dream.

But sitting in class while dreaming was boring, why bother? So he went out the window, webslinging over dream-New York, trying to fly.

Flying worked… a little… but odd entities were now flying through the air with him and that was getting annoying. Especially when some of them threatened to turn into threatening figures, and THAT was no good. He didn’t want it to turn into THAT kind of dream. He searched the dark skies for one of the Sentinels to hijack. He had ridden Sentinels in dreams before, and could convince them to take him back to the Penthouse. He was delighted to pick out the Mark VII (one of his favorites) and landed on it’s back. It, sadly, had no Tony in it, but he still managed to convince it to take him back to the penthouse, just as the other flying entities began to engage in battle. Peter didn’t want to have yet _another_ battle-dream. Those were getting old, and usually depressing. Besides, he had other ideas for _this_ dream.

The Mark VII took him to something resembling the penthouse, if the penthouse was all decked out for Christmas and featured a swimming pool full of rocks. Peter tried not to complain – controlling these dreams was always difficult and never lasted for long. And he had an idea… and idea he’d never admit to in real life, but had harbored quite a few fantasies about.

Especially since his lover had surprised him in the lab with some rough sex over a table featuring _not_ one, but _two_ suits. Two suits – and some nanotech in intimate places. Wait… come to think of it… Peter had admitted to it, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he told Tony he wasn’t fighting the suit, because he hoped it would “fuck him first?”

But that had been completely bravado. And empty request.

Tony has assured him he didn’t share… even with himself.

And that was the point of the dream. If he could pull it off. The Mark VII was taking forever to land and scattering the tacky lawn chairs all over the pool deck, Peter had to waste precious time fetching them in hopes to find a surface they could fuck on, fearing he’d lose control of the dream, or else wake up before anything could really get started. He never had control of these dreams for long, and when he did, it meant his phone was about to wake him up so he’d have time to down some coffee and check Tumblr without being late to Differential Equations. 

He stood there, looking up at the nighttime sky, on the deck of the penthouse that was not Tony’s penthouse, trying to mentally summon other suits. When _that_ didn’t work he turned back to the Mark VII, draped his arms around it’s neck, and pressed his body up against it. Sometimes he could be bold enough to do this to the _real_ Tony, but in dreams he had no problems at all.

Hell, in dreams he could say _anything_. Tony would never know.

“Hey big boy,” he said shamelessly, draping his hands around its neck, looking up into the red-and-gold face, the face of his dreams. “Wanna fuck?”

“I’ve never been with anyone else but Tony,” he crooned, running one hand over the perfect arm, fingering the plates lovingly, caressing, exploring. The way he had only be able to do on very brief occasions, when he actually had access to the suits without Tony around. (And even then he couldn’t do it for long. FRIDAY was always watching.)

“Not that I want to be. Tony’s kindof perfect.” His fingers wandered down to the forearms, investigating, discovering. (Of course, he was only exploring a memory. How detailed was it? Was he remembering every aspect of the forearms exactly? The cuffs had a more rectangular aspect as they protruded over the glove, far more angular than he remembered. Was that accurate? Damnit he’d have to find out when he was awake. If he had this dream once, he might be able to have it again.) 

“But you’re different. I’ve had a crush on you since forever. Some of my earliest sex-dreams were about you.

“You’re so beautiful…” he sighed, laying his head against the suit’s chest. He reached up for the head and angled it so the face lay against his head. The suit obeyed. “Every part of you is beautiful. I can say _that_ in front of Tony, it doesn’t hurt his pride to hear me say it.” He dropped his hand to the hip of the suit, then (since this was a dream!) moved it back to run his fingers over the smooth metal of the ass. “He knows you’re beautiful. I try not to gush too much because that makes me feel like a little fanboy. I’m _constantly_ trying not to sound like a fanboy. Constantly trying and failing.”

He squeezed the ass of the suit (ridiculous of course since he was squeezing metal, but there was no one there to see it) and then moved his hand to caress the leg, then the upper thigh. He pretended, for a moment, that he was touching Tony (oh if only he had the nerve to _really_ do this to Tony!) but quickly got distracted by the clever way the upper thigh of the suit fit into the socket. He explored the fit with his fingers even as he kept confessing.

“But it’s always that way, isn’t it? _Trying_ to sound like an adult. Trying to act like an adult. Trying not to forget to remember not to act childish. We’ve been together forever and I’m still struggling to act like a grown-up around him. That’s why I can tell him how beautiful you are… but you’re _beautiful_ …” 

He turned his face a fraction to press kisses against the cold metal as he slipped his hand into the hand of the suit.

“And I’ve always known,” he whispered, “That being fingered by you would be so much hotter than playing with any sex-toy.

“ _Yes_ ,” he moaned as the suit closed its hand, extending the index finger. Peter moaned and wrapped his hand around it. He moved his head and gazed up into the narrow rectangles that made the suit’s eyes. “I need this inside me. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

The eyes lit up in two blinding white rectangles and Peter started so badly he woke up.

Peter moaned loudly into the pillow… _dammit_ he had been so close! Actually he had been nowhere close, but certainly closer than any dream he had before. But now he was just in bed, coming upon dawn, and the dream was far away.

“S’okay baby. I’m right here. You’re dreaming,” Tony murmured behind him, reaching out and rubbing his back as he usually did after nightmares. 

“I _know_ I was dreaming I was _dreaming_ and I was **about to get fingerfucked _by the suit_** this isn’t **_fair!”_** he yelled. Or tried to yell, but couldn’t. He couldn’t move his mouth. Or anything at all.

“Great, I’ve been deprived of a suit-sex dream AND I have sleep paralysis to boot?!?!” he shouted pointlessly in his head… but wait… didn’t sleep paralysis mean he _was still asleep_? And if he was still asleep, didn’t that mean he could find the dream again? His eyes were closed anyway, and he willed himself back to it. Back to that strange penthouse that wasn’t their penthouse, to the deck with the swimming pool full of rocks, back into the arms of the Mark VII… 

And it _worked_. He couldn’t believe his luck (and tried not to think about it too much, thinking about it would certainly ruin it) but it _worked_. Of course it was daylight now, and they were dancing together (because _nothing_ was fair!) and also surrounded by the other suits, lounging around in the tacky deck chairs and drinking unknown substances from martini glasses but Peter tried not to think about it too hard. At least they were slow dancing, and that was something he could work with. He slid his hand down the suit’s arm until he had the forefinger in his hand again and began talking quickly.

“You’ll do this for me, won’t you? I need you to finger me before Tony really wakes up. I’ll never have the guts to ask for this in real life. And it’s not cheating. And you want to… I know you do.”

He probably didn’t have much time. He took the Mark VII by the hand and led to the nearest workable surface, something that looked like a solid block but was covered with some kind of fabric. It was couch-high and would do for what Peter wanted. There were other suits there but he shooed them away (wait, were there people in the crowd, now too? Please don’t let there be people here. He NEEDED this.)

“Ignore them,” he said guiding the suit to sit on the block. “Stay with me, stay with me,” he whispered as he climbed onto the suit’s lap. “Stay with me, focus on me,” he said, wrapping his arms around the suit’s neck, but he was mostly talking to himself. “You can do this for me. _Please_ Tony, I need it.”

 ** _No_**. He wasn’t begging, not this time. The dream was no place for begging. He took the wrist of the suit in his hand and forcefully brought it to his mouth, wetting it generously with his mouth.

“You’re _going_ to do this for me. You can do this for me, can’t you?”

The real Tony moved against him again and Peter woke with a start. He was really awake now, and able to move, and he wasn’t disappointed at all. He closed his eyes and smiled into the pillow. 

He knew what came next.

Tony would kiss him on the side of his face. Then, unless he was feeling amorous, there would be a trip to the bathroom. Then he might return… but he might not. Because he MIGHT wind up checking his phone, and _that_ might mean a trip to the kitchen. If Peter wasn’t awake. When Peter was awake Tony always talked to him first.

Peter wasn’t going to be awake. Oh no. Peter had serious dreaming to do.


End file.
